Pulp Faction: Vice & Liberation 2017
been spending a lot of time on a bare mattress, sifting truth
from narrative. i don't care about my life (i told myself in
the lot of Produce Pro). what do I care about? the work -
the stories, memory, causality - impact. also I was hungry:
walking along a sidewalk liberally smeared with human
feces, angled toward the curb, searching for anything hopeful
in the sky; I began to reflect upon the heaving shit pile that is
2017. Trump's printing the constitution on toilet paper in the
white house & we all know that document has always been a lie.
but I'm thinking i may have to join the ACLU; because, god
damn it, i want to believe the lie. how many days passed b/t
july 4th '76 and the first time a black man heard the words of
the declaration of independence. bill of rights wasn't written
for all of us. but we claim the constitution as our birthright -
rights, not freely given - human rights claimed as justification
for violence the world over. africans enslaved in the american
colonies, held the language of the constitution as a debt to be
repaid. a war bond we could cash in, once we'd bled enough.
today, i spoke with strangers about armed resistance. yesterday,
i heard plots of revolution in the streets and i keep daydreaming
about wilkes booth '17. come outside and meet me in the light of
day - there's some loud conversations that we need to have, and
what are you willing to lose?
INS violated Homeland Security's restriction on invading sensitive
spaces to pull a raid on a preschool down the street. it's already
started, folks, planning for 2020 isn't soon enough.
do you have your passport?
time to bring back the soap box, dog. form two lines – willing
and unwilling to lose everything for the human race. i was asked
in a ceramics gallery whether I'm ready to kill for the cause.
& i encountered a comic book artist - who moved from somewhere
to oakland, documenting the black panther movement. he told me
that i wasn't ready to die. me and BIG looked at him - like, nigga
my friends are tired. they're scared. they are working themselves
to death, beating their brains out, seeking the resistance. we all can
read the blueprints on the wall. now is the time for a calculated risk.
who needs you now?
i've been looking for a reason to live. unable to use my hand since
the psych ward means unable to write. why was I glad hillary lost?
couldn't handle the complacency. am I not in the most vulnerable
population, wearing poverty around me as a cloak? do I choose not
to conform or am i unable? my will is strong as my gag reflex, i walk
around retching from the flagrance of human detritus on any given
city block. obstinate as a motherfucker - practicing love on single
moms around town - or what have you; shedding mucus, thinking
too hard. phlegmatic. unable to care about much at all, withholding
signs of love from those i need most. abandonment complex, inner
child lost in a parking lot. maybe we can help each other.
what are we going to do? what's useful? fogged mirror reflections on
my lifelong estrangement from capitalism. a constant dependence and
i can't live this way anymore. so what now - what's useful – traded
favors to jigsaw resource against obstacle. define power: community,
infrastructure, information, communication, wealth, adaptiveness,
influence, access, support. what are your strengths? how can we lift
each other up? which elements of your world are more valuable than
cash. what's the most important thing you ever did?
we're exhausted, underpaid - but, that's not all we are. we're tired but
not beaten. lonely - we are not alone. this work is large. the work of
imagining our new world into place; migraines, focusing all of our
attention to identify a breaking point.
plan/execution. in other words: